Clunk. The roller door to the parking area shudders and slowly rises. He turns to it, pistol on his lap, and waits, ready for whatever the afternoon may bring.
Clank. The roller door shudders to a stop to reveal a white, two-door Buick LeSabre, a big old heavy tank from the early eighties.
The Buick’s engine revs and its rear tyres light up at it lunges out of the garage and swerves towards the Prius.
‘What the hell?’ Kilroy realises he is not, in fact, ready for whatever the afternoon may bring — especially when it’s two tons of hurtling Detroit iron. He presses the Prius’s start button, slams the vehicle into reverse and hits the accelerator. The car lurches backwards, but it’s not fast enough—
Crunch. The Buick spears into the front quarter of the vehicle and knocks it a metre sideways, pops a front tyre. The side airbag triggers and slams into Kilroy’s head and shoulder. Dazed, he looks into the other car and locks eyes with the driver.
It’s the Australian guy from the Atlantis 4, the one with the sheep dog. Kilroy saw him on Jon Stewart once. The guy slides out of the car and sprints towards the garage.
Kilroy grabs the Glock from his lap, pushes open the door, steps out and aims the pistol at him: ‘If you’re going to kill me you better make sure I’m dead.’
Corey sprints towards the garage and the safety of a wide cement pylon, where Judd takes cover. He steals a look back and sees Ponytail swing a pistol towards him.
Damn. Corey realises he’s not going to make it to the pylon in time. Maybe Judd was right. Maybe his ideas aren’t that fantastic after all. That car should have exploded by now. Why in hell hasn’t it exploded? His eyes flick to the Buick’s exhaust.
It’s pitch black—
Ka-boom. The vehicle detonates — and rocks the world. The car rises a metre off the ground as the blast wave hits Corey and drives him into the floor of the parking garage’s entry.
Ears ringing, the Australian forces his eyes open and sees Ponytail lying on the driveway ten metres away, his left shoulder on fire. He must be dead. Surely he couldn’t have survived that blast—
Ponytail twitches. His right hand rises — and tamps out the flames on his shoulder, then reaches for the pistol that lies on the ground in front of him.
‘Oh, come on!’ Corey drags himself to his feet, but he’s groggy and isn’t moving as fast as he should.
Ponytail picks up the weapon and aims it at the Australian, pulls the trigger—
Bam. Judd yanks Corey behind the pylon as the bullet pings off the cement and ricochets into the parking garage.
Corey turns to the astronaut. ‘Thanks, mate.’
‘This way.’ Judd pulls him into the parking garage.
Kilroy finds his feet and swings around the pylon, pistol raised, finger tight on the trigger—
No one there. They can’t have gone far. He keeps the pistol raised and enters the parking garage, scans the dimly lit space. It’s large, takes up the whole ground floor of the apartment block. It must have forty car spaces though half are empty.
Judd and Corey crouch by the passenger door of an old Ford Mustang. Corey rubs his temples, tries to wake himself up.
Footsteps echo across the garage, then stop.
Corey whispers: ‘He’s here.’
Judd whispers too: ‘Shhh. Voice down.’ He looks around. ‘We need to find a weapon.’
Corey scans the garage. There isn’t much to choose from. An old tyre leans against the wall nearby, but there are no tools that could be used as weapons. On the adjacent wall there’s a tall, thin metal locker. He points at it. ‘Might be something in there.’
‘Should have a look.’
Judd stays low to the ground and sets off towards it, creeps past the front of the Mustang. Corey follows. Judd sees him and stops. ‘You’re coming with me?’
‘Sorry. I thought we were doing it together.’
‘No, I’m doing it.’
‘Okay. So we’re going to split up?’
‘We’re not splitting up, it’s fifteen metres away. I’ll be back in thirty seconds.’
‘Oh. Right. But if we do get separated, where should we meet?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Well, think.’ He says it a little bit too loud.
‘Shhh. Voice down.’
Corey racks his brain. ‘I know! We’ll meet where we hid the bikes.’
‘Okay. Whatever.’ Judd moves off.
‘One more thing.’
Judd turns back to him, frustrated. ‘What? I could have been there and back by now.’
‘We should come up with an emergency word, in case, you know, one of us gets in trouble. I was thinking “tomato”.’
‘Tomato? No. Just shout my name.’
‘Oh. Okay. So you’ll shout out your name too?’
‘No, I’ll shout out your name.’
‘Right.’ Corey’s confused. ‘So we both shout my name?’
‘No. I shout your name and you shout my name.’
‘Got it.’ Corey thinks about it. ‘Wouldn’t it be easier to use “tomato”?’
‘I’m leaving now.’ Judd turns to go.
‘Alrighty.’
‘Shhh. Voice down.’ Judd moves off.
Corey whispers after him. ‘See you at the bikes.’
Judd stops. ‘No! I’m coming back here. We’re not meeting at the bikes. We’re meeting here.’
‘I thought we were meeting at the bikes.’
‘Only if we get separated. Otherwise, we meet here. And if you get in trouble you call my name. If I get in trouble I’ll call your name.’
‘So we’re not going to use “tomato”?’
‘At no point is anyone going to use the word “tomato” —’
‘Shhh. Voice down.’
Judd drills Corey with a withering look then turns and moves off.
Kilroy stands in the middle of the garage and is sure he can hear whispering. He just can’t work out where it’s coming from. With all the hard surfaces in this place the sound bounces around like a pin-ball. He scans the dim surroundings, tries not to think about how much his shoulder hurts. He doesn’t even want to look at the burn. He’ll ignore it until these guys have been dealt with.
He hears a short, sharp scratch. To the left, like a leather sole on a cement floor. He turns towards an old Mustang in the opposite corner of the garage.
Corey winces.
Bugger! His left boot just scuffed the bloody floor. He raises his head and peeks through the Mustang’s cabin to make sure Ponytail didn’t hear it.
He heard it! And now he strides towards the vehicle. The fact his shoulder was recently on fire doesn’t seem to have slowed him down at all.
Their eyes meet.
Oh, damn it!
Ponytail breaks into a run, raises his pistol and fires.
Thud, thud, thud. Bullets strafe the Mustang’s bodywork as Corey ducks behind the front passenger door. He stays low, tries to think of a way out of this.
The Australian! Kilroy saw him — but was he inside or outside the Mustang? Weapon raised, Kilroy approaches the vehicle and looks inside.
There’s no one in there.
He moves to the front of the car.
Nothing.
Where the hell is he?
A faint sound behind him. He pivots, swings the pistol to the boot of the car, finger tight on the trigger.